My computer caught a virus. When it was first diagnosed, I spent a good few moments
wondering if this would get me out of the school on Monday, with a few mumbled words
about catching a virus. It did make me feel sick, to be honest. The realisation that
the freshly downloaded resources were at risk, and the sinking feeling that I hadn't backed
up anything for a while (days? months? time does fly) added to my nausea.
The diagnosis came on Saturday afternoon. On Friday after school I had checked my mail as usual, then spent about three hours seeking out and downloading files to use in the classroom. Could one of these have started to infect my poor machine? Its jabs, also known as anti-virus software, were up to date, but new viruses spread quicker than the news about them does.
On Saturday I was back on the internet, but not for long. I had worksheets to make, and at one point the computer crashed, and then rebooted itself, leaving me with an uneasy feeling that I was no longer in control. However, at this point I didn't suspect a virus at all. Instead, the only reasonable explanation was that my PC was beginning to form its own consciousness and independent intelligence, and that trying to force my (at times) poor taste of music upon it was the final straw. Quite what its problem with one particular CD was, I don't know, but Britney Spears, you have a lot to answer for. I hold you responsible for pushing my PC over the edge, as it was forced to digest the entire Greatest Hits as mp3s. If computers could spit, then this is what happened: maybe "My Prerogative" inspired this act of rebellion.
As my computer and I began to lock horns, I decided to spend what turned out to be 40 minutes backing up important files. Little did I realise that just 24 hours later I would be feeling much gratitude towards myself for that foresight / paranoia, even if I still thought there was something slightly more sinister going on with my PC than a mere virus.
By Sunday I was nagging someone who actually knows something about computers to
come and wave a magic wand and enable me to access my marking spreadsheets and type up
some reports. I just about understood the words "reinstallation" and "patches", although not
their significance, and became increasingly more edgy as the light began to fade and
I still had a pile of work stacked up. But the magical world of computers works in
mysterious ways, and gathering the necessary tools to make my PC better took a long
time: the disks, the licences, the codes, the sourcing of the computer equivalent of
sticking plasters on the internet whilst avoiding the temptation to surf news and discussion
sites.
And all the time this was being done for me I was trying to calculate at what stupid hour I would have to get up on Monday morning to ensure all the necessary work was completed before school started. In addition, I flicked nervously through the week's TES, trying to concentrate on the words but finding myself yelling with increasing frequency, "Is it done yet?"
A typical response to my panic might be: "I'm just drinking my tea", and I'd have to bite my bottom lip very hard to stop myself replying, "Well can't you drink tea and press a few buttons at the same time?" But nobody else seemed to share my sense of urgency mingled with impending doom.
By the time I could hear "Songs of Praise" starting on a TV somewhere I was almost
strangling my PC monitor's swivel neck, snarling at the blank screen in a particularly
unattractive way that was merely reflected back at me.
"Why oh why?" I wept softly or growled angrily, depending on who was in earshot. "Why does someone make a virus that does this?"
"Well, you know those 14 year old boys that you're always complaining about?" was a response that had much experience in dumbing down the messy world of computers for idiot users like me. "One of them probably had a row with his teacher and decided to get his own back on the world."
"But this requires some intelligence and know-how, surely?" I snivelled.
"Well, I didn't say they were your pupils, just some kid out there somewhere." I actually felt my eyes narrow with suspicion. Believe me, if I'm paranoid enough to suspect my PC of developing its own musical tastes, then I can sure start to wonder about the possibilities of some geeky whizzkid that I've pissed off targeting my computer.
"Huh!" I harrumphed. "Well it's not very imaginative, is it? If you're going to make a virus, you could at least do something fun, like a cheeky onscreen message."
My computer doctor sighed. "I doubt that these kids have much imagination." I wasn't sure if that meant the virus makers or my pupils, so I did what is necessary in these situations and put the kettle on again.
All the nerves and tension and frustrated attempts to work had left me quite
frazzled. And I knew that Monday morning, before school started, was going to be a
chaotic mix of trying to catch up with what I should have done and trying to prepare
for the day. For the first time in a long while, I would feel grateful towards the
antiquated blackboard adorning my wall, and thankful that technology with its evil
viruses has not yet invaded my classroom.
Post Script. I had to get up just before 5am on that Monday. I just about finished everything as the bell rang. I haven't listened to Britney Spears since, so maybe some good has come out of all this.
added 27/11/04
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